


Into the Woods

by xpityx



Series: Witcher Fics [10]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23298865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpityx/pseuds/xpityx
Summary: “Maybe it’s nothing,” Hana said from her place behind him.Geralt grunted in reply, but made no move to slow Roach.--AKA: the Witcher/His Dark Materials crossover that no-one asked for.
Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Witcher Fics [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732639
Comments: 119
Kudos: 355





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you are coming from the Witcher fandom: I've tried my best to explain everything that needs explaining and it should make sense even if you've never heard of His Dark Materials
> 
> If you are coming from His Dark Materials fandom: Welcome, brave souls. You would benefit from reading [this introduction to Witchers](https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Witcher) and from knowing that Emhyr var Emreis, as Emperor, was also known as 'The White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Enemies' due to his tendency to bury his enemies under his ballroom floor. Cirilla (Ciri) is his daughter, and was bought up by Geralt for Reasons.
> 
> Thank you to Kit for the amazing beta and to [Dordean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dordean/pseuds/Dordean) for coming up with Ciri's daemon. 
> 
> This is finished! C̶h̶a̶p̶t̶e̶r̶s̶ ̶p̶o̶s̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶o̶n̶c̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶w̶e̶e̶k̶ ̶(̶f̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶c̶h̶a̶p̶t̶e̶r̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶a̶n̶ ̶e̶p̶i̶l̶o̶g̶u̶e̶)̶

“Maybe it’s nothing,” Hana said from her place behind him.

Geralt grunted in reply, but made no move to slow Roach. 

Ciri and Quin had walked through a portal at Corvo Bianco the evening before, looking concerned. Well, Ciri had looked concerned. Quin had looked like he was judging every one of Geralt’s life choices, but that was just his default expression. He had put up with being aggressively cuddled by Hana while Ciri had voiced her worries about Emhyr and Kali, and Geralt had set out the next morning on the day’s ride to Emhyr’s estate. 

Geralt and Emhyr were not friends. Emhyr didn’t have any such thing as far as Geralt was aware, but they had come to an understanding over the years. Mostly as two people who would cheerfully murder anyone who hurt Ciri, but also because they had both been—possibly indirectly in Geralt’s case—important in some way but were now slowly slipping towards old age and obscurity. _Not gracefully_ , Hana had commented, which was probably fair. Geralt still took more contracts than necessary, and he heard that Emhyr stuck his oar into the Empire’s rule more than was probably appreciated. Ciri seemed to see it as a sign of affection, but the Senate most assuredly did not. 

In all honesty, Geralt had a better rapport with Kali than he did with Emhyr. She didn’t speak a whole lot, but when she did it was always something worth listening to. Not that Emhyr would ever say anything without sense of course—it wasn’t his winning personality that had allowed him to conquer the entire Continent, after all—but Kali was the one with the sense of humour.

Judging by the alacrity with which Geralt was welcomed, his staff at least were worried about something. As they made their way towards Emhyr’s suite of rooms Hana greeted all the daemon’s big enough to do so, and Lefenea, Mererid’s dog daemon, exchanged a few quiet words with her.

Hana left his side the second he stepped into Emhyr’s main office. Kali didn’t always come forward to greet them when they arrived, most likely a bad habit she’d picked up off Emhyr, who continued to read even while Geralt went over to the sideboard to help himself to some wine. 

“Got any of those little cake things?” he asked, his back to the room as he investigated the small dishes of delicacies that never seemed to run out.

“You have your own cook, do you not?” Emhyr replied.

“That’s not a ‘no’.” Geralt remarked, settling into one of the big armchairs in front of the desk, scanning the room for Kali as he did so. 

He couldn’t see her or Hana, but that didn’t worry him: one of the consequences of being a Witcher was that Hana would have to go to Skellige before he started to get uncomfortable with the distance. Emhyr and Kali, like most people, couldn’t get further than a few feet from each other without pain, so Kali couldn’t be far away. 

“What is it?” Emhyr asked, finally looking up from his book. “I have better things to do than—”

“What’s wrong with Kali?” Hana interrupted, leaping gracefully onto the desk.

Emhyr startled, but only a little. It was a credit to him: Geralt had seen people piss themselves when she pulled that particular stunt. 

“Nothing, she is tired. As am I. We are busy and, furthermore, our health is none of your concern.”

Hana looked like she was debating taking a bite out of Emhyr, so Geralt leant forward in his chair, bringing both of their attention onto him. 

“Where is she? She can’t be far.”

“I’m here,” said a deep voice, and Kali herself walked from around the desk. 

Even for a Blue Mountain wolf, Kali was huge. When she sat next to Geralt and tipped her head back her snout came above Geralt’s elbow. It was shock sometimes to speak to her and see her face so close. Geralt always made sure to never touch her, of course, but she seemed unaware of her size, often sitting only inches away from him.

She had also been scarred as long as Geralt had known her: an ugly burn ran down one side of her flank, covered with patchy grey fur, and she was missing most of an ear and her left eye. None of those things worried him: they were just part of her and had never previously slowed her down. If anything, they had added to her fearsome reputation. Now, however, she looked diminished, as if her fur was thinning all over. Her one eye was rheumy and her gait was unbalanced. 

He could see why Ciri and Quin were worried.

Hana leapt down beside her and watched anxiously as Kali levered herself up to the chair next to Geralt’s. She settled herself so she was leaning over the side of it, her great paw on the armrest of the one Geralt sat in. 

“Hey, Kali,” Geralt said, “you look like shit.”

Kali snorted inelegantly.

“It is nice to see you too, Witcher.”

“What’s wrong?”

She tilted her head, which was the closest she could get to a shrug.

“Perhaps I am just getting old,” she suggested.

Geralt glanced at Emhyr, who was watching them intently. Usually he ignored Geralt when he and Kali spoke to one another, so his interest was not reassuring. 

“And him?” Hana asked, casting a disdainful look back at Emhyr before jumping up beside Kali. The chair creaked alarmingly under their combined weight.

“He is not affected.”

“Kalidaria,” Emhyr interjected, “we do not need their opinion on this matter.”

“ _You_ might not,” Kali spat, and Geralt almost leaned back, such was the venom in her voice.

Emhyr abruptly pushed himself up from his desk, walking towards the door that led into an adjoining sitting room. He hadn’t gotten further than a few feet before Kali let out a pained cry. Hana was on her feet and growling but Emhyr merely changed direction, going instead to stand by the fireplace, his back to the room and every line of him tense. 

“Hana,” Geralt said, when she looked like she might go after Emhyr.

She turned back around, curling herself around Kali instead who briefly put her head down over Hana’s. 

“It started so gradually that I barely noticed,” Kali began, and Geralt and Hana settled down to listen.

  
  
  
  


Geralt was trying to relax but Hana was swimming circles around the bath, so every time he felt himself sinking into rest a wave would roll up over his chin. He opened one eye to glare at her but she ignored him. At least they had the guest baths to themselves. Although, if they hadn’t, Hana tended to make people abruptly decide they had elsewhere to be. 

They’d pretty much invited themselves to stay the night, though Mererid had seemed content ordering rooms to be made ready for them. Kali’s ill health could not have escaped his notice.

Emhyr had offered no input into Kali’s story, remaining as distant as he could be while still in the same room as them. The fact that her decline had been so slow worried Geralt: curses were sudden things, not well-suited to subtlety. That was ignoring the fact that it was impossible for something to affect one without the other: when Geralt was hurt, Hana felt his pain and vice-versa. Sometimes the effects manifested differently, but they couldn’t be avoided altogether. Hana had suggested that Emhyr’s Elder Blood was somehow protecting him, but Geralt thought that unlikely. For a start, Elves were the only race without daemons, so it was unlikely that their magic was affecting the bond. 

“We should take her to a Dyralinr,” Hana suggested, swimming up beside him.

“Even if we could find one that would talk to us, you know that Emhyr would have to come too, right?” 

She shrugged, as best as a puma could shrug anyway, causing the water to once again lap over his mouth and chin.

“Going any distance from Emhyr would be just as excruciating for Kali as it would be for him,” Geralt added, wiping a hand over his face and giving her a reproachful look.

“Of course, I know that,” Hana replied, rolling her eyes. “We could put him in a sack and sling him over the back of Roach.”

Geralt huffed a laugh at the image. 

“We could suggest it to her,” she added.

“What’s the point? It’s not magic, it’s not possible. Even if a curse affected them in different ways, it would still affect both of them.”

“Got any other ideas?”

“Nope,” Geralt replied, leaning back and closing his eyes now she’d finally stopped moving around. 

Hana managed to stay still for approximately three minutes before jumping out of the bath and shaking herself dry. Geralt opened his eyes and stared fixedly at the opposite wall while cold bath water dripped off his nose.

Back in their rooms they went about their evening routine, Geralt trying not to think about Kali’s illness too deeply. He felt like he was missing something important, some detail that would leap out at him if he could just keep his attention on something else. Hana must have been worrying at the problem as well though, as whenever he tried to think about something else he ended up going over everything he knew about daemons again. He debated meditating, but Hana jumped on the wide bed and started to make a nest out of the top layer of blankets, winding it round and round her and then collapsing gracelessly in the middle with a sigh. He _could_ meditate while Hana slept, but it was easier just to steal one of her blankets and sleep. 

When he woke he knew instantly that he had only been asleep for a few hours. It was still full night outside and Hana was gone. He rolled out of bed and threw on a tunic and trousers. He couldn’t sense exactly where she was, but he knew the general direction. He walked until he realised he was heading towards Emhyr’s rooms, then he sped up. Mererid was stood outside the doors to Emhyr’s suite, dressed in sleep clothes and speaking to the guards: he simply nodded at Geralt, and the guards opened the doors for him.

He heard Kali before he saw her. He didn’t know what it was at first, only that it was an awful retching noise and it was coming from the sitting room. 

She was lying on her side with blood on her muzzle and Hana was lying behind her, speaking quietly into her good ear. He couldn’t hear what she was saying over the hacking wheeze of Kali’s breaths. She had mentioned her coughing fits, but he had never imagined they would be this bad.

Emhyr was kneeling near Kali’s hind legs, close but not touching. He was so still he might have been made of stone, and for a terrible second Geralt thought he wasn’t breathing. Then he took a gasping breath, his shoulders heaving.

He imagined for a moment that the spell was broken, that whatever had meant that Emhyr could not feel Kali pain was gone, but then Emhyr stood and wiped a hand over his face, and once more he was as distant as he could be from the scene in front of him. Geralt bit back his instinctual anger and went and knelt behind Hana.

“Kali, can I help?” he asked.

“No,” she gasped. “No, it will pass.”

And it did. Slowly, minute by minute, she stopped coughing and her breathing eased. Through it all Emhyr never moved and Geralt had to work hard to keep his anger buried. He didn’t want it to affect Hana, who had tucked her nose up behind Kali’s head and was taking big, deep breaths, as if to show Kali how it was done. 

“Get a towel,” Hana ordered, once Kali’s breathing had eased.

Geralt stood and went through the sitting room into what turned out to be Emhyr’s bedroom. He spotted a wash basin on a nightstand and took two folded towels from a small pile next to it. He wasn’t sure what they were going to do with it: he wasn’t about to risk getting that close to Kali, and Hana didn’t exactly have opposable thumbs, but when he returned Emhyr was sitting again and reached out a hand for the towel without looking at him. He took it and began carefully wiping the blood from her muzzle—Geralt had the uncomfortable feeling that they were intruding on something rare and private. 

He tilted his head at Hana who got up reluctantly and followed him out. He had never seen Emhyr touch Kali before, he realised. 

The first thing Geralt did when they returned to their room was kneel and scoop Hana into his arms. She was really far too big to be picked up and she looked at him like he was insane for a moment before putting her wet nose under his ear and exhaling noisily. 

“It’ll be okay,” she said. 

  
  
  


Emhyr’s horse was a huge grey Forger, bred to carry heavy daemons. Hana was only a foot or so smaller than Kali, but she only rode behind Geralt when speed was necessary. Otherwise she was happier loping alongside Roach, occasionally disappearing to investigate an interesting noise or smell.

Kali managed the jump up into her saddle under her own power, but it was difficult to see the feared monster she had been. For although it was forbidden to touch another’s daemon, Kali had never had any problem ripping out the odd throat or two. Emhyr had not personally taken part in many campaigns, but those he had had cemented their reputation: he as a master tactician, she as a sharp-toothed nightmare. 

Now she walked as if she had passed her hundredth birthday, pain and stiffness in every step.

Still, he hadn’t imagined Emhyr would have agreed so easily to seek out the Dyralinr. At best, people saw them as ancient monsters, as trickster gods, and Geralt had thought he would have had to do a lot more work to get Emhyr to agree to ride off into Athatane Forest to find them. What had actually happened was that Geralt had suggested the idea and Emhyr had regarded him for a moment before saying _very well_ , and that had been it. 

“We’ll need to go via Lyria,” Geralt informed him as they set off, “I have a friend there who has had more experience than most with the Dyralinr and will be able to tell us where the last sightings were.”

Emhyr nodded curtly, but said nothing. 

Well, the only thing Zoltan would be able to tell them about the Dyralinr would be the time he’d gotten drunk and found himself in the woods with something wearing the skin of a deer and a cockatrice stood over him, which _he_ claimed had been a Dyralinr. Geralt thought that if a Dyralinr appeared every time a dwarf got drunk and ended up lost in the woods, they’d know a lot more about them than they do. The truth was Geralt had snuck up to the aviary that morning to send a crow to Ciri. He hadn’t mentioned how sick Kali was, as that wasn’t his news to share, but he couldn’t go riding off into the wilderness with the former Emperor of the whole world without letting Ciri know what they were doing. For one, now _she_ was Empress of the whole world, for two, she’d kill him. 

He’d told Ciri that they were heading to Lyria: he wanted to give her a chance to speak to Emhyr and Kali before they went riding into the Athatane Forest. Regardless, it wouldn’t take them out of their way.

The plan therefore was to ride up to Dravograd, and from there head towards the Prancing Pony where, perhaps, Ciri would meet them. From Lyria, it was a three week ride to the very edge of the forest, and the villagers there might be able to give them an idea of where the Dyralinr might be found.

Kali seemed pleased with the change of scenery at least. She didn’t move often from her place behind Emhyr, swaying with the gait of the horse, but she had no more coughing fits. 

Three days into their journey and they had already established a routine: they rode about thirty miles a day, which was a little slower than Geralt’s usual pace, but he was sure that it had been a long time since Emhyr had last been in the saddle. He didn’t complain, but he was quiet, speaking only the few words needed to communicate some need or ask a necessary question and nothing more. Kali talked to Geralt more often, asking him about his travels, with Hana interjecting as often as possible to tell any embarrassing story she could think of.

“You do know this shit reflects badly on you too?” Geralt asked one day after a particularly mortifying tale from when they’d first headed out on the path that had even Emhyr smiling faintly.

Hana snorted. “I’m not the one who falls off his horse all the time.”

“Three times, I’ve fallen off Roach _three times_.”

“I bet Kali has never fallen off a horse.”

“No, I have not,” Kali answered, and Hana looked smug. 

Geralt sighed and once again worked out how long it would take them to reach Lyria. Too long, was the answer to that one. 

He was surprised that evening when Emhyr sat next to him on the ground near the fire, asking a question not related to the horses or the tents. 

“Have you ever seen a Dyralinr?”

“Yeah,” Geralt replied, pulling himself out of the half-mediation he’d fallen into. “Two.”

“I have read a little of them: some say that they can see curses because they are made purely of magic, others that they themselves are the daemons of monsters.”

Geralt snorted. “That sounds like some academic’s way of saying ‘we don’t know’.”

“Quite possibly.”

They sat in silence for a while, but it was the most he’d heard Emhyr speak since they’d started their journey, and Geralt found he wasn’t quite ready for the conversation to be over.

“I asked one once, what it was. It took some doing, as it didn’t understand the question at first and my Elder Speech is fine but it didn’t seem to know what I meant by it, by itself.”

“And?” Emhyr asked, apparently not enjoying Geralt’s dramatic pause. Hana batted him with her tail, impatiently. 

“It said, _kiethe en saar_.”

“Dust and shadow,” Emhyr translated, almost to himself. “What does that mean?”

“No idea, but they can see all stripes of magic: the one I spoke to knew right away that Hana and I weren’t limited by distance.”

It had asked _how cut, how cut?_ over and over until Geralt had realised what it meant. 

“I’ll go set up the tents,” Geralt added, suddenly done with the conversation. He could feel Emhyr’s eyes on him, though he said nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I _nearly_ made it a week before posting the next chapter...

Ciri was already waiting for them when they arrived at the Prancing Pony. 

The Pony was popular and there would be a crowd even in the early afternoon, so Geralt led them up the back stairs to the set of rooms that Jaskier kept. Even if Emhyr had worn a glamour, Kali was a little hard to disguise. Some of the best mages on the Continent may have been able to cast a spell that would hide her shape from other people, but never from other daemons. 

Geralt could see straight away that Jaskier wasn’t surprised by his arrival, so once Geralt had accepted the hug he always insisted on he led Emhyr into the sitting room, then stepped back to let Ciri greet him. Emhyr didn’t betray the slightest hint of surprise at finding his daughter stood at the other end of the room, but whether that was a genuine reaction or not, Geralt couldn’t tell. 

Jaskier came in last and Dorian immediately leapt from his shoulder onto Hana’s back and began grooming her. She tolerated this for about thirty seconds before dropping dramatically to her side in a bid to crush him. Dorian, used to her occasional forays into attempted murder, jumped free. He then took the opportunity presented by her underbelly to begin grooming her there. Hana sighed hugely but didn’t move. 

Geralt, along with everyone else in the room, ducked as Quin decided to join the fray, spreading his wings and gliding down to gracefully land on Hana’s side. Hana glared up at him, but Geralt could feel how pleased she was to see him, to see them all. 

“Zoltan here?” Geralt asked Jaskier.

“Yes, downstairs, doing something secret to his beer recipe I imagine.”

“Or running the tavern while you hide up here and nap,” Geralt suggested.

“I was _writing,_ Geralt! And then Ciri arrived and I couldn’t leave her without company. You may not have noticed but she is Empress of the whole Continent.”

Geralt winced as something went thump behind him, most likely Dorian.

“Hana! Put him down at once!” Jaskier demanded.

“He started it,” Hana replied, rather indistinctly through a mouthful of monkey. 

She did drop Dorian though, who promptly said something to Hana that had her growling, then he jumped behind the taloned bulk of Quin, who liked to pretend he was above it all. Geralt was grateful that Galia was downstairs with Zolten: all four daemons together were remarkably skilled at breaking furniture. 

Hana ignored Dorian, walking over to Kali and slumping down next to her. In the sudden quiet Geralt was aware of the conversation happening between Ciri and Emhyr. He tilted his head at Jaskier, who nodded and led the way back downstairs, Dorian on his shoulder. 

“So, do I get to know why you are riding around the countryside with the former Emperor?” Jaskier asked as they made their way downstairs. 

“Nope.”

“Geralt, I swear I will be a paragon of secrecy, but if I’m hiding heads of state in my sitting room I at least deserve to know why.”

“Nope.”

Dorian gave him a forlorn look from over Jaskier’s shoulder. Dorian’s sad eyes might work on pretty much everyone else on the Continent, but Geralt had seen him bite off people’s fingers when defending Jaskier so Geralt remained unmoved. 

“Listen,” he added, putting a hand on Jaskier’s other shoulder, “if it was my story to tell you know I would have told it by now.”

Zoltan was indeed working hard when Geralt and Jaskier went into the main room. Jaskier stepped up to take over an order, deftly dancing round the bulk of Galia while Zoltan greeted Geralt. 

They talked for a little while until Zoltan was called back to help Jaskier deal with an influx of customers. Geralt went and sat at a corner table, ignoring the suspicious glances he got without Hana. While it was true that there were plenty of daemons that were small enough not to be easily seen, Geralt’s eyes marked him as a Witcher, and everyone knew the evils Witcher’s had to inflict on their daemons in order to become the monsters they were.

Well, everyone thought they knew, which seemed to be the same thing in their minds.

Soon, a young boy hurried over and deposited a beer and a bowl of steaming stew in front of him, giving him a shy smile before he was off again. 

Geralt wondered briefly what conversation was happening upstairs, but then put it out of his mind: he’d find out soon enough. 

  
  
  


Ciri found him searching through his saddlebag, out in the stables.

“Well?” he asked, but she ignored him, going straight for a hug instead. Her form was a little unfamiliar in his arms: even her travelling clothes were richer and heavier than anything she’d ever worn on the road with him, but she smelt the same and that was a comfort. 

“We didn’t know how bad it was,” Quin said once Ciri had pulled back. He flew down from the rafters and landed lightly on Ciri’s shoulder.

Hana had come in with them and he put a hand on her head as she leant against Geralt’s side, making him list slightly to the right.

“He didn’t tell us anything,” Hana said, dismissively, “he didn’t want _Kali_ to tell us anything.”

“He’s worried, Kali is his daemon,” Ciri replied.

Hana snorted.

“You have to admit Ciri, he’s more than a little distant with her,” Geralt added.

“Yes, there’s some history there, something to do with his curse I think, but he loves her, of course he does. You must help them if you can.”

“We’re going up past the Blue Mountains to find a Dyralinr—it will at least be able to tell us what kind of magic it is. If it _is_ magic.”

“I could sense nothing when I tried, but what else could it be?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen anything like this before: what affects one affects the other.”

“Even though he’s not suffering now, if she dies…”

Hana tensed under his hand.

“I know,” Geralt replied, “and I will do everything in my power to stop that happening.”

“I know you will, I just...I wish they had told me.” 

Geralt could see that Ciri was genuinely hurt by Emhyr’s lack of honesty, but he had no idea what to say to her: the relationship between her and Emhyr had always been a little fraught, though he had no doubt that Emhyr loved her—as much he was capable of such a thing. It had been his first thought when Kali had revealed her sickness: that Emhyr’s lack of care for her was killing her, but Emhyr was hardly the first person he’d met that was incapable of deep feeling, and all the rest had daemons as healthy as Hana was. 

He wasn’t sure what they would do if the Dyralinr had no answers, but there was no use borrowing trouble, as Vesemir had used to say. He wondered briefly how long he would have to live before he started to give out advice that sounded more like it came from the mouth of a washerwoman than a famed Witcher. A long time, he hoped.

“Where are they now?” Geralt asked.

“Upstairs. Zoltan has found a room for you all for the night and when I left a boy was taking up food.”

“You won’t stay?”

Ciri shook her head.

“We’re expected back,” Quin replied, shifting his wings a little. He hated conflict, always leaving Ciri to do the arguing, so Emhyr’s lack of honesty would be sitting even less well with him than it was with Ciri. 

“It’ll be okay,” Geralt told him, then winced a little. Vague platitudes weren’t usually his thing.

Ciri smiled at him though, so he couldn’t have done too badly. She hugged him again, then all the horses except Roach made their displeasure at having a portal opened so close to them known. Ciri and Quin were gone in a flash of light. Geralt stared at the place where they had been for a moment, then Hana nudged him.

“Were you actually looking for something or were you just hiding out?” she asked.

“I can’t find my needle and thread, tore my sleeve again.”

“It’s in your pack, upstairs. Come on,” she added, walking towards the stable doors.

Geralt gave Roach a pat, who neighed at him in what he liked to think was a sympathetic manner.

“I hear you,” he told her.

“I’m the one that can talk, Geralt. Roach doesn’t understand you,” Hana informed him when he caught up with her. 

“And don’t I know it,” he muttered.

Hana gave him a sharp smile. 

The rooms she led him to were small but well appointed, with a large fireplace and two single beds pushed up under the windows. Somehow Zoltan had talked Jaskier out of the purple and red drapes he’d set his heart on, and the plain yellow they’d used instead was far easier on the eyes. 

Emhyr was seated writing at a small table, his food untouched on the tray next to him and Kali sat behind his chair. 

“I think I’m feeling a little better,” she said when Geralt went over to speak to her. Geralt knew she’d say the same if her leg had been ripped off, however. Emhyr too, now that he thought about it. 

“Regardless,” Emhyr added, without stopping writing, “we will go to see this creature so that it can tell us how to fix what ails us.”

“Us?” Hana asked.

“Merely a turn of phrase,” he dismissed.

“And you can still think of nothing that started it?”

“No.”

“When did it start?” Geralt tried.

Emhyr did stop writing then, but he didn’t turn to face him.

“A long time ago, perhaps,” he replied. 

Emhyr went back to ignoring him after that, and whatever Hana was softly saying to Kali also went unanswered. Geralt left them to it, going back downstairs to join Jaskier and Zoltan.

The tavern had emptied out, save a woman snoring loudly in a chair near the fire. He found Zoltan washing glasses in the back kitchen. 

“Need a hand?” he offered.

“Dishcloth is there, you can dry,” Zoltan replied, tipping his head to indicate a shelf to Geralt’s left. 

“Where’s Hana?” Galia asked. “I haven’t seen her all evening.”

“She’s with Kali, upstairs.” 

Galia nodded her massive head and Geralt waiting patiently to see if she would add anything else. Galia was not one to rush things.

“Odd that they are so close when you and His Highness are not,” she observed.

“Unless there’s something you’re not telling us?” Zoltan joked.

Geralt snorted, stacking a dry glass on the side. 

“You accidentally fuck one dragon and all of a sudden everyone thinks you’d fuck anything.”

“You wouldn’t?” Zoltan asked, and Galia laughed: a deep sound that shook the window glass when she was really amused.

“Who wouldn’t what?” Jaskier asked, with impeccable timing: arriving just as Zoltan finished washing the last glass. 

“Geralt’s trying to claim he has standards,” Zoltan explained. 

Jaskier started humming _The Widow’s Itch_ at him and, from his perch on Jaskier’s shoulder, Dorian made an obscene gesture to demonstrate the lyrics, one that only worked with the benefit of four opposable digits.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Geralt announced, dropping the wet dishcloth on Dorian’s head as he passed. 

Jaskier and Zoltan came out to join him once he’d sat down, Hana appearing from somewhere to sit behind him where she joined in with Dorian, who was still humming _The Widow’s Itch_ to himself.

Geralt and Jaskier eventually convinced Zoltan to tell his Dyralinr story, which was just as ridiculous as Geralt remembered it being, but at least it meant that he hadn’t lied to Emhyr: he really had come to the Pony for Zoltan’s expert advice. Although that advice was mostly what spirits not to mix, he figured it was close enough. 

  
  
  
  


Geralt heard Emhyr get up the next morning, but kept his eyes firmly closed so as to give him some privacy. 

He was grateful they both had such large daemons as it meant that there was no feasible way for them to share a tent. Not that he could’ve imagined Emhyr in a tent until he’d seen it with his own eyes. It had almost been reassuring to discover that not only did he have no idea how to put it up, he obviously had no intention of learning: sitting next to the fire and waiting for Geralt to do whatever needed to be done with it. Geralt had almost laughed. Hana had been less amused. 

After Emhyr and Kali disappeared to parts unknown Geralt rolled out of bed to wash and dress, Jaskier appearing during the later part of his morning routine with breakfast.

“You’re up early.”

“There’s a former Emperor in my sitting room.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, _ah_.”

“We’ll be off soon.”

Jaskier sat down opposite him and picked up the mug of tea he’d brought up with breakfast, drinking it while Geralt ate.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I wish you every success my friend.” 

“You could bless this endeavour more successfully by giving me my tea back.”

Jaskier ignored him, taking another sip. 

“Will you come back this way on your return?” Dorian asked. He was grooming Jaskier and Geralt bit back a smile at the state he was making of Jaskier’s carefully styled hair.

“We’ll try.”

After he had finished he went to collect Emhyr, grateful to discover that Zoltan had filled their packs with hardy sena bread and dried meat.

They set out, heading towards the farms that ran up into the Blue Mountains in Aedirn, where they would turn south-east and ride through the foothills until they reached the steep passes that marked the edge of the Fiery Mountains and the beginning of the Athatane Forest.

As if to underscore the distance they had to travel, Kali had another coughing fit that night. Geralt woke up to the noise, Hana already gone. He debated whether to get up or not. For all that he cared about Kali, and not only for Hana’s sake, he was aware there was little he could do save get in the way. He rubbed a hand over his face and rolled out of his blanket, shoving his feet into his boots. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to Kali while he lay in his tent.

He wasn’t the only one outside: he could make out the bulk of Emhyr, sitting with his back to the side of his tent. It made some sense he supposed: Emhyr would never risk being so close to Hana, and Hana was not one to be refused when set on a path, even by Emhyr var Emreis. Still, he could not imagine ever leaving Hana to the wracking cough he could hear from inside the tent. 

As he studied Emhyr more carefully he could see the clench of his fists whenever Kali made a particularly painful sound. That alone made Geralt go over and sit by him. 

Emhyr cleared his throat after a particularly bad few moments sounded from behind them.

“Tell me something,” he said.

“Tell you what?”

“Anything. Surely your time on the path furnished you with some moderately interesting stories.”

He couldn’t quite believe that Emhyr was asking to be told a story. He hesitated for a moment in his surprise, but when Kali started to cough again he just started the first tale that came to mind. 

“There’s a village not far from the Athatane Forest,” he began, “I was passing through on my way back from Elskerdeg when one of the villagers flagged me down. There was a monster in the forest, she said, it was taking their children and there was a bag of coin for me if I could bring back its head. I asked some questions and got more contradictory answers the more I asked. Some said it was a striga, some that it was a forest spirit that actually saved their children. Anyway, a bag of coin is a bag of coin, so I thought I’d at least go investigate.”

He stopped and Emhyr tensed beside him as Kali hacked and struggled for breath for long moments. When she at last subsided, he continued. 

“It took me three days to find the thing, and only then because it wanted to be found. It was at least a foot taller than me and it was wearing the head and body of some ancient animal and the legs of a human or a ghoul. Around it’s waist was a belt of human fingers and ears, and where its shoulders would have been it wore a cloak of patchwork hide that shrouded its body in darkness. I had drawn my sword and was preparing to kill the wretched thing when it spoke to me.

“It spoke a strange dialect of Elder Speech and it took me a moment to realise it was asking if I was lost. It didn’t seem in the least bit bothered by me or my sword, so I sheathed it again and asked it if it had seen any children. _Yes_ , it said, _lost children. Keep safe, blood and bone_. 

“As far as I could tell it wandered the whole of the southwestern edge of the forest, finding the lost and keeping them safe from whatever else was in the forest until someone came for them. In exchange it asked for a small sacrifice of flesh. I have no idea if it fed off pain, or fear, or nothing at all, but it seemed to be doing more good than harm so I let it be. 

“When I got back to the village they admitted that they didn’t like paying the price asked for their missing loved ones, so I left them to their greed. That was the first Dyralinr that I met, though I didn’t realise till I met the second that that’s what it had been.”

“I don’t meet many monsters who can tell me what they do and why, and I think that Dyralinr was the first. It asked me just as many questions as I asked it. I knew the difference between good and evil a little too well in those days, or at least I’d thought I’d known. Meeting a thing so inhuman and having what could pass for a polite conversation with it—politer than the one I’d just had with the villagers, anyway—was maybe the start of trying to see things as they are, not how I believed them to be.”

Geralt stopped, surprised at himself for revealing so much. He’d known the Dyralinr had affected him deeply, and even if he hadn’t, Hana was always ready to tell him what he should know about himself—but he hadn’t meant to speak so long and so honestly.

“Sometimes that is a lesson that takes a lifetime to learn,” Emhyr commented.

By that time Kali had quietened and Hana came out to join them. Emhyr nodded to Hana then levered himself upright and went back into his tent. 

Geralt and Hana remained where they were, waiting for first light. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all remember this has a happy ending, okay?

Kali’s health waxed and waned according to some pattern that Geralt couldn’t discern. When she was well enough, Hana bullied her into walking alongside the horses with her instead of riding behind Emhyr. Occasionally Hana would do or say something that would make her laugh, and Geralt was ever hopeful to hear the familiar low, rolling sound. 

Emhyr rarely wavered from his silence, and if Geralt didn’t know better he’d say he was already grieving. For his own death? For Kali’s? He didn’t know, and neither he nor Hana could understand why Emhyr seemed as if he were travelling towards an end rather than a cure.

It took a week and a half to make it into the foothills of the Blue Mountains, and another week to reach the black cliffs that marked the start of the Fiery Mountains. The Solvegia ran fast and cold, and Emhyr looked almost blue whenever he came back from his morning ablutions. Geralt found it refreshing, and even Kali was persuaded to swim with him and Hana when they first crossed the river.

The village that Geralt had come upon so long ago looked like it had been abandoned some thirty years ago or more. It had mostly been reclaimed by the forest: just the vine-covered outlines of a few buildings gave an indication that people had lived there at all. 

Kali had another coughing fit in the shadow of its ruins, her wheezing breaths echoing strangely off the rotting wood and stone. Hana and Geralt sat outside this time, loathe to intrude on Emhyr’s clumsy attempts to comfort her. 

Geralt had moved across to the otherside of the clearing by morning, but he could still hear the timbre of Kali’s voice once she was well enough to speak again. It sounded a little like _she_ was reassuring Emhyr. 

“It is much further?” Emhyr asked as he packed up their tents.

One day about a week earlier Emhyr had abruptly taken over duties involving the tents. Geralt’s theory was that he hadn’t known how to but once he’d watched it enough times he’d decided to pull his weight. Hana thought Kali had badgered him into it. 

“Nope, this is the new growth. There used to be Elven villages here, but they were all burned down a thousand years ago or so.”

“ _New_ growth?” Kali asked, her voice whispery and quiet.

“The Athatane Forest is probably older than the mountains themselves.”

“I have read a little about the forest, but as I understood it, it remains mostly unexplored,” Emhyr commented, tying off the last of the baggage as he did so.

“Yeah, and you’ll see why when we get there.”

Athatane forest was so old that even the elves didn’t tell stories of its beginnings. The trees were massive, great enough that a daemon and their person could not stand on opposite sides without feeling the pain of separation. Verdant green moss carpeted the ground, hiding roots and deep dens: difficult for a person and treacherous for a horse. Last time Geralt had been in this forest he’d had to leave Roach in a clearing rather than risk her breaking a leg. They did the same this time, although Geralt couldn’t have said if it was the same clearing or not. For all that the forest was dappled with pleasant sunlight, it was a vast, unknowable place: giving the impression of waiting and watching. 

It was slow going. Kali stumbled often and sometimes seemed to forget where she was. Emhyr would put a hand on her head and she would shake herself and snort dismissively at him, as if unsure what the fuss was about. 

Hana and Kali had spoken often at first, but their conversation had gradually faded into silence. Geralt concentrated hard on the sounds around him, listening for the heavy tread of something other than a deer or wolf, but all he could hear were the harsh cries of birds and insects. 

“Geralt,” Kali said, as the light began to fade towards evening, “what do you think the Dyralinr are?”

Geralt had sometimes been asked that question, especially by those with an interest in the rarer creatures found in this world, but he still didn’t have a good answer. 

“When an alghoul slaughters and eats people,” he started, “we call it evil because that act is evil to us, but to the alghoul it’s neutral: it’s hungry and so it feeds that hunger. The Dyralinr that found lost children, we say it did a good thing, but we are just putting labels on something so beyond our comprehension we may as well ask the ants their opinion of them: we understand about the same I think.”

“That’s a very convoluted way of saying _I don’t know_ ,” Hana said from behind him.

“If we can not discern the reason for its actions then how can we say what it is?” Emhyr commented, ignoring Hana. 

“What he said,” Geralt added. 

“Perhaps they are folds of chaos, trapped by the Conjunction of the Spheres,” Kali mused. 

“You read too much poetry,” Emhyr told her. 

They passed a look of amusement between them, but when Kali turned back to her footing Emhyr looked stricken. 

“We’ll find one soon,” Geralt felt moved to tell him a little while later, while Kali was speaking to Hana. 

“Yes. Yes, I haven’t thanked you for guiding us thus far.”

“And you still haven’t,” Geralt joked.

Emhyr ignored him. 

“I know Hana would rather she could spend time with one of us only, but you have always made an effort with both of us, and for that I am grateful.”

Geralt opened his mouth and closed it again, trying to think what he could possibly say in reply, but at that moment Hana let out a cry and Geralt turned to see that Kali had collapsed. 

“Geralt, help!” she shouted, and he took two steps to catch up to them then fell to his knees on the soft moss, Emhyr beside him. 

Kali was breathing fast and shallow, her ears flat to her skull. 

“Help me turn her,” Hana told Emhyr, “perhaps she is injured.”

They did, Emhyr running his hands through her thinning fur but finding nothing. Geralt sat back out of the way, watching Kali as if taking his eyes off her for even a moment would cause her to breathe her last. 

When they found nothing Hana sat back on her haunches and stared down at Kali, her expressive face blank. 

“All will be well,” Emhyr told her in a voice much kinder than Geralt had thought him capable of, “we will find the Drylanir soon.”

She looked up at him, then turned and walked into the forest without replying. 

  
  
  
  


Geralt sat with Emhyr for a while, waiting for Kali to regain consciousness. 

“We can go ahead, bring the Dyralinr back to you both,” Geralt suggested quietly, as the dusk began to draw in and she still hadn’t stirred. 

“No,” Emhyr said without looking away from Kali, “I can carry her on my back. I have done so before, when I was a boy.”

“She would have been smaller then too,” Geralt pointed out.

“No, she was as she is now. She settled in this shape the night I was cursed.”

Instead of replying Geralt took one of the blankets and fashioned it into a type of sling to keep Kali on Emhyr’s back as he walked. From this close Geralt could see where her fur was coming away in tufts, and what was left of it was leaching into grey. It was a little awkward getting her in it and situated: Emhyr seemed unaware of how close Geralt came to touching her a few times, letting him direct him this way and that as they got her into something resembling a comfortable position. 

They started to walk again, further into the tangled trees, but night came swiftly and it wasn’t long until Emhyr was stumbling in the green shadows. He offered no protest when Geralt suggested they stop, only sitting next to the pack Geralt swung off his shoulder and carefully lowered Kali to the ground. 

For the first time in weeks, Emhyr sat by the fire Geralt had made while Geralt unrolled bedrolls and sorted through supplies for something to eat. He had a little of the hard bread and some berries he’d picked as they’d walked, but Emhyr only shook his head when he offered him some. 

They sat for a while in silence once he’d finished eating. Kali lay at Emhyr’s feet on the blanket he’d used to carry her. He had one hand on her stomach, which rose and fell with each of her quick breaths.

“You know what’s wrong with her, don’t you?” Geralt said. It was the only thing that made sense.

“I do. I fear I do, at least,” Emhyr replied, not looking away from her as he spoke. “Where do you think she got such terrible scars?” he added after a moment.

“You were cursed,” Geralt said, not seeing what Emhyr obviously was wanting him to see. Kali’s burns looked nothing like the spines of Emhyr’s curse, but magic twisted oddly between a daemon and their person, especially magic of ill-intent.

“No, she was unaffected by my curse.”

“That’s…” Geralt trailed off. Emhyr would know as well as he did the rules that governed the relationship between daemons and people.

“Not possible? Yes, I’m well aware. Nevertheless, she was unaffected by my curse, and had equally been unaffected by all I have suffered since.”

“And now?”

“And now it is as if she were living through a lifetime of pain, all at once.” 

Emhyr looked out into the dark trees then and Geralt gave him what privacy he could. He could hear Hana moving through the undergrowth towards them and he walked a little way into the forest to meet her. 

“She’s still unconscious,” Geralt told her once she was close. Hana stopped alongside him and leant her head against his side before moving past him to the fire.

Geralt turned and followed her, sitting down once again opposite Emhyr, but this time with Hana at his side.

“When my father would not renounce my claim to the throne,” Emhyr continued, as if there had been no pause. “It was not me the Usurper’s torturers turned to, it was my daemon, my bright Kalidaria.” 

He spoke in a terrible voice, free from inflection or feeling. 

“After many hours of horrors I finally begged my father to renounce me, to free us, but he refused. He was stronger than I. Once he was dead they turned on me. I knew they meant to do something terrible, perhaps more terrible than what had already been done to her, so I pushed her away with all I had, I prayed and begged and cried for our bond to be broken, and it was.”

“Why?” Geralt asked.

“Would you not bear any humiliation, any pain for her?” he asked, tilting his head towards where Hana was listening intently.

“Of course.”

“So too is it for me. I have been cursed, stabbed and poisoned. I have bled for my kingdom, over and over, and yet I have bore it alone, and gladly. The magic, the blood rites, the curse, my Elder blood. It is not clear which did it, or if it were some mix of all four, but through it she was saved from my pain and, after all she had been through, I could not stand the thought of sharing it with her.”

“You’re cut off from each other? Are you sure?” Hana asked, after a stunned pause.

“Yes, once I returned to Nilfgaard a mage confirmed it for me.”

“You were lucky it didn’t get out, even as a rumour,” Geralt commented.

Emhyr huffed a laugh, though it had little humour in it.

“You had him killed,” Hana guessed.

“Just so.”

“But now it is killing her.”

“It will kill us both, I have no doubt. It is her suffering I cannot stand—I will not stand.” 

“Why did you agree to this if you knew what it was?” Geralt asked.

“I want the Dyralinr to tell me that I’m mistaken, that I couldn’t possibly be the cause of this, of this torment.”

“You don’t know how to fix it,” Hana observed. “You’re not sure how you did it, so you don’t know the solution either.”

“No, I cannot reach her.”

“What have you tried?” Geralt asked.

“ _Everything_ ,” Emhyr spat. “I have tried everything in order to share even one second of her pain, to undo whatever I did to cause this.”

Geralt wasn’t sure if he wanted to reach out to comfort the proud man sat across from him, or reach back forty years to comfort the boy who had been powerless to save his daemon from torture. It didn’t matter either way: both were impossible—one was lost to time and the other would not tolerate it. 

There was nothing more to say after that. Knowing how Kali had come to be in this state didn’t offer them a ready solution. They would carry on and hope: that was all they could do. 

Eventually Geralt and Hana bedded down for the night, Geralt with his back to the embers of the fire behind him and the warm mass of Hana guarding him from the cold of the forest in front. He didn’t sleep, only dozed while he listened to the sounds of the trees murmuring to each other in the breeze, waiting for soft footsteps that might herald the arrival of a Dyralinr.

Gradually he became aware he could hear Emhyr speaking quietly to Kali. He was speaking to her in Elder Speech and he couldn’t help but translate what he was saying into Common. _Return to me, my dearest, I have no one to speak to without you. Come back to me._

Geralt turned his face into Hana’s warmth, humming to himself under his breath so he wouldn’t hear any more. 

  
  
  


For the longest time Geralt had thought that what he’d inflicted on Hana—what all Witchers inflicted on their daemons—had been the worst thing anyone could do. In all the time he’d spent wading through the filth of what people did to each other, he’d never come across a case of a daemon being tortured. It made him fiercely glad that elves’ souls weren’t split in such a way: if they’d had daemons who knew what evils humans would have inflicted on them.

He hadn’t asked Hana if she’d known or not, but he rather thought she had. She was protective of those she loved and she’d been far too calm during Emhyr’s story. How she had known when it was clear that Emhyr had never told another soul—except for the unfortunate mage—was anyone’s guess. 

Regardless, Geralt found himself viciously glad of all those enemies Emhyr had buried under his ballroom floor.

They hadn’t been walking long, only an hour or so. Emhyr had been slow to start out and Geralt had let him be, finding something to fiddle with on Roach’s saddle until he’d declared himself ready to leave. Kali hadn’t stirred all night as far as he knew and she now hung limply in her sling, her head tucked up against Emhyr’s back. 

This time he smelt the Dyralinr before he saw or heard it. 

He stopped and motioned Emhyr to do the same, just in case he was mistaken and it was a couple of necrophages heading their way, instead of some ancient spirit wearing the skins of a couple of necrophages. Geralt could tell when Emhyr heard it, as he tilted his head a little, perhaps to better catch the sound of what Geralt knew to be small bones clinking together. Geralt was sure that the Dyralinr they’d found had been the one he’d met long ago, the finder of lost children. Every Dyralinr wore the skin of other creatures, but there could only be one that collected fingers and ears. 

A few moments more and it came into view, its swinging gait moving it gradually closer to them. Geralt relaxed and Hana sat down at his side.

“Is it—?” Emhyr asked.

“Yes. And perhaps the same one I met before,” Geralt replied.

Emhyr unslung Kali from his back and lowered her carefully to the ground, although he kept himself between her and the Dyralinr as it approached.

It was even bigger than Geralt remembered it being, and it smelt far worse than any grave or sewer. 

“Greetings” he said, in Elder Speech when it was close enough to converse with.

_Greetings_ , it replied, but Geralt couldn’t have said where the sound came from. It was as if it appeared in the inner ear without first having been spoken. 

_Lost?_ it asked.

“No, we’re not lost, but we do need your help.”

_Lost,_ it said again, taking a step towards Emhyr. _Lost, lost._

Emhyr held his ground.

“What payment do you desire?” he asked the terrible thing that towered over him.

_Blood and bone._

Geralt unsheathed a short knife and passed it over to Emhyr who took it without looking away from the Dyralinr. With a quick, economical movement he removed the little finger of his left hand and offered it up. The Dyralinr took another step forward and Emhyr’s hand disappeared into the darkness of its body. When he withdrew his hand the finger was gone, just the steady drip of blood remained. Only the look that Hana gave him stopped Geralt going over to bind the wound there and then. 

_Lost, lost_ , it repeated, and Emhyr stepped back so that the Dyralinr had a clear view of where Kali lay on the forest floor, breathing shallowly. 

“Yes, she is lost and I can’t bring her back,” Emhyr said. “You must tell me how I can help her.”

The Dyralinr crouched a little, its skirts of skin crumpling oddly as it did so, and a waft of fetid air washed over Geralt. The gaping maw of its head didn’t move, but five skinny arms crept from out of the darkness of its body: two had perhaps been human once, the other three were mostly unrecognisable bone and fur. It ran its hands, spider like, over the still form of Kali: close but not quite touching.

_Terrible, terrible, saved her from pain. So much and too much. Saved her, you saved her, but went away. Almost gone. Safe now. Safe. Come back, human, come back._

“I do not know how,” Emhyr confessed, his hands tight in Kali’s fur. “Tell me. Please”

_Safe now. Come back, come back._

“Please,” Emhyr said again, leaning over Kali’s silent form, but the Dyralinr was standing, retreating back into the tangled forest. 

Geralt watched it go until no hint of its passage remained.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling sorry for myself today, so have a chapter a day early with *hugs* for anyone who'd like them.

It was quiet in the forest. The wind had died down and any birdsong was distant. 

Geralt was used to sitting in the same place for hours, but Hana was restless, alternatively sitting up straight and then slumping down next to him. He could feel her need to go over to Kali, but Emhyr remained bent over her, hands fisted in her fur. Finally Hana left his side and took the few steps towards Emhyr and Kali.

“You must tell me what you did,” she demanded.

“ _Hana!_ ” Geralt scolded, but she ignored him.

“How did you do this? How did you cut yourself off from her?”

Geralt stood up, preparing to physically drag Hana back, but Emhyr spoke and he stopped where he was.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “She was in agony from when they had tortured her: we both were. When they started to perform the curse I knew that I could not let her suffer any more. That’s all I remember.”

Hana sat, wrapping her tail around herself.

“When a child at last becomes a Witcher they must leave their daemon behind,” she told Emhyr. “They must tie their daemons down—their other selves—tie them to the earth, then walk off the edge of a steep ravine. Those that survive both the drop and the separation must live in the wilderness alone for seven days. Only then can they return to their daemons: if they can find them.”

Geralt was aware that he was as shocked as Emhyr looked. Even if it wasn’t forbidden to share any details of Witcher trials, speaking of something as abhorrent as purposefully causing your daemon pain was worse. He remembered how it had felt: Hana encouraging him, telling him to be strong, even as he bound her tightly so she wouldn’t be able to follow him. Even as he walked away from her. Even as he jumped. She had never lost faith in him, in them, and their ability to survive. Hana never gave up: she didn’t even know how. 

“How did you find your way back to her?” Emhyr asked him, and Geralt understood then why Hana had shared their private pain.

“I don’t know,” he replied, but Hana’s growl let him know that wasn’t good enough, so he sat next to her and really thought about it. 

It wasn’t a time he thought of often, except perhaps in the odd nightmare. Some of the other daemons had cried and begged not to be left. Some of the other boys had cried too: silent tears dripping down their cheeks as they jumped to what, most likely, was their death. 

Twenty boys. The strongest who had survived the trials and the mutagens: twenty boys had stepped into the darkness, alone. Five had returned. 

Undoubtedly it was Hana who had saved him, who had believed enough for both of them. After seven days in the forest Geralt had stumbled towards the clearing where he could feel Hana waiting for him, could feel her calling him home. 

“I think, I think her awareness of how she felt was what I was able to follow,” Emhyr looked up at him, but his look was still distant with grief. “I mean, the separation meant that for the first time she was experiencing things wholly different to what I was experiencing, and by concentrating on those sensations, I was able to find her again.”

“Emhyr, you must let Geralt touch Kali.”

Geralt jerked back from Hana.

“Can you think of anything else?” she demanded of him. “They cannot feel each other’s pain: you will give Emhyr something to take hold of. Kali is _dying_ and Emhyr will die with her,” she added, when still Geralt hesitated.

“Yes, yes I consent,” Emhyr said, already backing away from Kali’s prone form.

“But Kali…” Geralt tried.

“Kali would want whatever would save Emhyr,” Hana told him.

Geralt looked down at Kali, at Kalidaria. Her fur was coming away in tufts, leaving patches of pink skin vulnerable to the elements. Her breathing was slow and ragged, and if he concentrated he could hear the feeble beat of her heart. Steeling himself, he leant forward and pushed his hands into the thick fur that remained around the back of her head, it yielded in his hands, softer than it looked. He could feel the slight static that let him know the creature he touched was not purely of flesh and blood, that she was linked to the deep magics of the world.

“Can you feel that?” Geralt asked, his voice low as if whispering would hide the taboo of what he was doing.

“Yes,” Emhyr replied, and Geralt jerked his head up to look at him. “I can feel your hands,” he continued, almost rapt. 

“Good,” Hana said from where she stood next to Geralt, close but not touching, “hold on to that feeling.”

“Gods above, she is in pain,” Emhyr cried out, half falling forward in the dirt.

“ _Do not let go_ ,” Hana snarled.

Emhyr panted, hands twisted and head down, but Kali’s breathing seemed to ease a little and Geralt felt her heart thump under his hands, strong and true. 

“It’s working,” he told both of them.

Emhyr pulled himself forward and laid his hands over Geralt’s, the stump of his finger still bleeding sluggishly. Geralt felt the jolt of it, of connection: Emhyr and Kali under his hands and Hana just behind him. 

“Emhyr?” Kali gasped suddenly, and Geralt flinched back. “Are you hurt?”

“Is it nothing, my dearest,” Emhyr soothed. “It is nothing.”

Geralt moved further away, distancing himself from the tenderness in Emhyr’s voice, from the tears that fell into Kali’s fur. 

  
  
  


The only daemons Geralt had ever touched, who were not Hana of course, were Tanir and Dorian, and he had only touched Dorian because Jaskier had been desperately unwell at the time and Dorian had touched him first, seeking comfort. Tanir was an odd one too. Lovers often touched each other’s daemon’s but Tanir was not one for cuddling, even with Yen as far as Geralt could tell. Very occasionally Geralt would be reading or dozing and he’d feel a warm weight next to him and it would be Tanir, leaning up against him and pointedly ignoring him all at the same time. After he and Yen had split up, Geralt had missed that trust maybe more than he’d missed Yen, which probably said more about their relationship than he liked. 

Vesemir had told them all horror stories about newly trained Witchers who had touched the daemon of someone they had been trying to save and the person had died of shock, the daemon wisping to nothing under their hands. 

It was Hana’s job to save the daemons and Geralt’s to save the people, and that was all there was to it. Perhaps he could have saved a few more lives if he’d pulled a daemon out of the way of a fledger bite or a wyvern sting, but the taboo was too strong, and it was not how he’d been taught. He’d asked Jaskier about it once—if he’d rather die than have a stranger touch Dorian. He’d looked down at Dorian who, ever attentive to Jaskier’s moods, had hooked his small hands into Jaskier’s tunic and put his head under his chin. _I don’t know_ , he’d said, stroking a hand down Dorian’s back, _I just don’t know_. 

Emhyr and Kali were now sitting as close as he and Hana were, speaking softly to each other. Geralt was sure he should make some suggestion about their next course of action, but all he could think about was the electric shock of touching Kali, of how he hadn’t even been able to ask her first. 

The sunlight slowly climbed the root he and Hana were leaning against, and eventually Emhyr got up and came across the clearing to where they were sat. Kali remained where she was: close enough to Emhyr but far enough from Geralt, he imagined. 

“I’m afraid I have done a poor job of this,” Emhyr said, holding up his left hand: a strip of material was inexpertly wrapped around the stump, sodden with blood.

Geralt got up and went to his pack, pulling out the things he needed on autopilot. He didn’t usually carry much in the way of bandages and such, but Hana had insisted this time. 

He set about cleaning the wound, putting a few stitches through the worst of it and wrapping a clean bandage up and around Emhyr’s hand. As he was tying it off Emhyr put his hand over his and held him there.

“Thank you,” he said.

Geralt nodded, not even able to meet his eyes, and Emhyr let go and stood.

They made it back to the horses just before sunset on the second night after Kali had awoken. Geralt still hadn’t spoken to her directly. He’d barely spoken to Emhyr. Storm clouds gathered over them as they readied the horses that morning. Geralt and Hana had ridden through storms worse than this one looked like it would be, but Kali was still recovering. 

For all that he was used to walking, he was grateful to have Roach back. He patted her affectionately on the nose. Eleos, Emhyr’s horse, had wandered into the forest and it had taken the better part of an hour to find him. 

“There is nothing to forgive,” Kali said from behind him, “but if you need my forgiveness, you have it.”

Geralt finished securing his pack to Roach and turned around. He’d expected Emhyr to be somewhere pretending he wasn’t listening, but he was stood at Kali’s shoulder. 

“It’s fine,” he replied. “The weather will turn soon, we should try to get back to the ruins of the village before the storm hits.” 

He pulled himself up onto Roach and was about to urge her forward when he felt a hand on his leg. 

“Geralt,” Emhyr said, looking up at him.

“It’s fine,” he repeated, giving Roach a nudge so she’d start walking and perhaps everyone would get the message and get moving, before they were stuck out in the pouring rain. 

Presently he heard the sound of Eleos behind him and, once they were out of the denser trees, he spurred Roach first into a trot, then into a canter as they hit open ground. They were about two hours away from any kind of shelter and the wind was picking up.

As it happened, they made it to the outskirts of the village just as the skies opened and it began to pour. Geralt was soaked instantly, and Hana, trotting beside him, went two shades darker in the wet. They rode towards the most intact building, which might have been the tavern once: it had three and a half walls and most of a roof. 

Lightning split the sky, throwing the crumbled walls into sharp relief against the grey clouds Geralt turned to make sure Emhyr was behind him, but at that moment thunder rolled and he flinched instinctively at the enormity of the sound. He wiped rain out of his eyes and saw that Emhyr was already next to him, leaning over the distance between their horses to shout over the storm.

“Hana and Kali are already inside, come.” 

They dismounted and led the horses straight over the moss-covered masonry, into the relatively dry space beyond. 

Hana was curled around Kali, who was clearly shivering. Emhyr went straight over to her, sitting on her other side. Geralt took his pack down, unrolling the driest blankets he tossed one to Emhyr then stripped out of his topmost layers, throwing them over a half-collapsed table. 

He sat down next to Hana, as close as he dared with Kali so near. He threw the blanket over the one Emhyr had already placed over Hana and Kali, tucking it under Hana’s side. Now Geralt was situated, Emhyr stood and stripped out of his outer tunic and boots, having already spread his cloak over a table as Geralt had. 

When he sat back down, both Kali and Hana seemed to have shifted closer to Geralt. Geralt made to give them a little more space, but Hana growled at him so he stayed put. Gradually the time between the thunder and the lightning lengthened until the booms sounded distant over the falling rain, the storms rolling towards the Blue Mountains.

“She’s shivering less,” Geralt remarked to Emhyr after about an hour had passed. The rain still hammered on the roof, but the floor they sat on had remained mostly dry. 

“She can hear you,” Kali replied, without looking up.

“Sorry, Kali,” he apologised, looking down at where Hana was leaning against him.

Kali sighed deeply enough to stir the blankets a little, then maneuvered herself around. Geralt had no idea what she was doing until she flopped down again with her head directly on Geralt’s leg. 

“Do you believe me now?” she asked.

Geralt knew he should look at Emhyr, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Believe you?”

“That you are forgiven.”

“Yeah—yes.”

He hesitated for a moment more, then lifted a hand to her head, his thumb resting on a soft, bare patch of skin just behind her ear. They stayed like that as the rain eased off and finally stopped. He looked over to Emhyr to find that he had fallen asleep, breathing softly in the sudden quiet. 

  
  
  
  


The next morning Geralt carefully extracted himself from the pile they’d all apparently fallen into as they’d slept. He stood, put on his still-damp outer clothing and went to ready the horses, avoiding the rest of them as best he could when one of them was his own daemon.

Hana was used to him and gave him his space. He was mostly trying not to imagine the look of disgust on Ciri’s face if she’d seen him touch Kali. The first time had been to save her at least, but the second had been to comfort himself. To feel that she was truly alive, that she truly forgave him, and through her forgiveness, that he might have Emhyr’s. 

The rain had left the forest damp and lush, leaves and grasses striping Roach with dew as they rode through the gradually thinning trees. He guessed they would make slightly better time on the way back, as Eleos was capable of more speed without Kali riding behind Emhyr. Still, he wasn’t sure that even his own admittedly highly developed social aversion would allow him to not talk to any of them for the next three weeks or so. 

“You are quiet,” Emhyr commented a few hours later, as he pulled Eleos up alongside Roach.

Geralt laughed shortly. This was the first time since they’d set out that morning that the path was wide enough to ride two abreast: Emhyr must have been waiting for his moment. 

“Yes, because we are usually so talkative.”

“You usually talk to Kalidaria.”

Geralt couldn’t help but remember Emhyr admitting to an unconscious Kali that he had no one to talk to without her. 

“Well—” he started, casting about for some topic of conversation. Preferably one as far away from daemons as possible. 

“I apologise if we made you uncomfortable last night,” Emhyr said, his words more rushed than usual.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“You did not wish to?” Emhyr asked, after a pause where Geralt wondered if he wished hard enough the storm would return. Alas, there was only the sun, sparkling merrily on the river through the trees. 

“I'm glad she’s better,” Geralt allowed.

“As am I.”

They fell back into silence after that, and Geralt could think of not a single thing to say to break it. 

“I always tried to make sure she had company, even if mine was not as comforting as it should have been,” Emhyr began. “You and Hana have been a great solace to her in the years since I retired and I am grateful to you both.”

There was no doubt that Kali could hear them speaking of her. She was walking just behind the horses with Hana, but said nothing. 

“You weren't exactly encouraging,” Geralt commented, glancing over at him.

Emhyr raised an eyebrow. 

“Neither of you seemed to require much encouragement.”

Hana snorted from behind them, breaking the illusion of privacy and they fell quiet again. 

All the times they had visited Emhyr’s estate over the years, faithfully promising Ciri they were keeping Emhyr and Kali company, when in truth they were doing nothing of the kind. Perhaps they had even contributed to the problem, treating Emhyr and Kali as two entirely separate entities, instead of two halves of the same being. Even now, knowing the truth of what Emhyr had sacrificed in an effort to save Kali from further pain, he didn’t fully understand them and how they had lived apart in such a way for all those years.

“I’m tired,” Kali announced, and Geralt and Emhyr stopped their horses instantly. 

Geralt was pleased to see that she was able to get up onto her saddle on Eleos, with Hana providing a running commentary on her lack of grace as she scrambled up. Hana’s teasing more than anything assured Geralt that Kali was on the mend. 

Three hours later they stopped for lunch at Hana’s insistence, and Geralt mentally revised how long it would take them to get home. 

If Geralt had been expecting a total personality change he would have been disappointed, however what he did get was Emhyr stubbing his toe on a root and Kali limping around while she cursed every ancestor he’d ever had. Hana was far more circumspect than she would have been if it was just Emhyr, biting her lip rather than laughing aloud. 

They got underway again after a much more leisurely lunch than some hard tack and berries deserved in Geralt’s opinion. Kali rode behind Emhyr again, though Geralt hoped it was more because she wanted to than through any great need for the rest. She swung from side to side with Eleos’ gait, and Hana padded beside Roach. The trees forced them into a single line as they wound around the river, and Geralt let Roach drop a little further behind them as they rode. 

“You’ve already added this to the guilt pile, haven’t you?” Hana asked, quietly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Geralt lied. 

“Can’t you at least be grateful that you saved her before you begin your next ten year self-flagellation stint?” she added.

“We’re not out of the woods yet.”

“That was awful,” Hana growled. “You’ve been desperate to say it, haven’t you?”

“What? No!” Geralt scowled down at her and gestured to the trees. “It was a perfectly legitimate comment on our current whereabouts.” 

“It was pun, Geralt. A bad one”

“Shut up.”

Hana laughed and, from up ahead, he heard Kali do the same. 


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently six days is the limit of my self control.

One would think that after decades on the path Geralt was used to the initial adrenaline-fueled chaos and subsequent calm, but he found himself wandering Corvo Bianco at a loss. He couldn’t help but think of all the cues in Emhyr and Kali’s behaviour he had missed over the years, picking over how he could have known sooner, how he could have pushed them towards some kind of solution before Kali had fallen ill. 

Hana had been no better, becoming increasingly short-tempered in the month since they’d returned from their journey. 

“We’ll go see Kali tomorrow,” Geralt promised her that evening. She already knew, of course, but sometimes confirming a course of action stopped her looking like she was contemplating murder.  
  


“Stop pretending you’re doing me a favour,” she snapped.

Geralt blinked a little at her tone.

“I never said I didn’t miss her.”

Hana snorted her disdain, getting up from where she’d been sat next to him and leaping gracefully onto a chair further towards the fire.

“You miss _him_ more though.”

Geralt opened his mouth to deny it, but it took a special kind of stupid to try to lie to one’s own daemon.

“You like him too,” he told her instead.

“I do not, I like Kali.”

“They’re the same being, you know.”

“Aspects of the same being.”

Geralt sighed. 

“Would you really mind? If I did—you know,” he asked after a pause while he tried to pretend that he was still concentrating on the letter he was writing. 

“No, I suppose not,” Hana replied, staring intently at one massive paw.

“You _do_ like him!” Geralt accused.

“I do not! Take that back!” 

B.B. chose that moment to enter the room with supper. He paused, raised a single, judgemental eyebrow, then continued into the room, Ciara at his heels. 

“I understand you will be journeying up to the Estate tomorrow?” B.B. said, as if it was a question rather than something he’d already confirmed through the staff grapevine.

“Yes, although we shouldn’t be gone long.”

The single eyebrow went up again, but this time it stayed where it was: high and judgemental.

“Of course,” B.B. agreed, though his expression continued to say otherwise.

Geralt wanted to sigh again, but if he did it too often then Hana started to imitate him. 

“It doesn’t matter anyway. He can barely stand my company,” Geralt said the next morning as he readied Roach, as if there had been no pause in their conversation. 

Hana rolled her eyes at him.

“Do you have to be so dramatic all the time?” She swooned, falling onto her side in the hay. “Look at me, I’m Geralt of Rivia, no one could love me because I’m a fierce monster slayer, but deep down I just want someone to stroke my hair.”

“I hate you,” he told her. 

She rolled her eyes at him and started grooming herself, leaping up behind him once he was ready instead of running alongside, as usual.

“I wasn’t planning on anything faster than a trot,” he told her.

“I know,” she replied, setting down behind him. Roach shifted a little, but she was used to carrying both of them.

“It was brave, what he did for her,” Hana said, when they were about halfway there. 

Geralt resigned himself to the fact that this was obviously going to be a conversation that moved at glacial speed. 

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Dumb, pointless, arrogant, but brave.”

As she was sat behind him he couldn’t share his frown with her, so he directed it towards the gently rolling hills of Toussaint instead. 

That seemed to be the end of the conversation, for the moment at least, which was just as well as half an hour later they were following Mererid down familiar corridors to Emhyr’s rooms. 

He was sat in his sitting room rather than his office, which was unusual enough, but judging from the spread of food on the low table in front of him he must have been expecting company.

“Are we interrupting?” Geralt asked, hanging back as Hana and Kali greeted each other with their former levels of enthusiasm. Both he and Emhyr winced as something expensive-sounding fell off the shelves. 

“Not at all,” Emhyr said, indicating a seat opposite him. 

Geralt eyed the myriad of dishes in front of him, slipping off his swords and sitting before helping himself to a tiny cake of a type he favoured. 

“You can’t have broken her again already,” he commented, getting a smack from Hana’s tail for his trouble. 

Emhyr ignored him, topping up his glass and pointedly not offering Geralt a drink.

Geralt grinned at him and helped himself to a very expensive-smelling Toussaint white. Hana and Kali had stopped play-fighting and were testing the strength of one of the armchairs by curling up together on it. 

Geralt frowned over at Kali.

“You’ve gone grey,” he told her.

“Blame him,” Kali said, tilting her head at Emhyr, who did indeed have more grey than black in his hair these days, but it was a shock to see that the effect had bled over onto her. 

Hana cleared her throat then and Geralt shoved two more cakes in his mouth in a bid to avoid the conversation that she obviously thought he should be having.

“Geralt has something to tell you,” Hana told Emhyr, like the traitor she was.

Emhyr looked at him expectantly and Geralt swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice something was wrong earlier,” he confessed.

Emhyr leaned forward and put his wine glass down on the table, folding his hands in his lap exactly as he had some twenty years ago, when Geralt had arrived in Nilfgaard with news of his daughter. 

“I think that is not what you meant to say.”

Geralt wondered why he insisted on being attracted to insightful people with no sense of boundaries. 

“We—,” he cleared his throat and tried again, shifting uncomfortably. “That is—” 

Geralt stumbled unsuccessfully through several juvenile and wholly insufficient statements in his head in an attempt to capture what Hana already knew.

Emhyr turned to Hana, a look of questioning on his face. Geralt turned to her for answers as well, as he always had and probably always would. She simply nodded and Emhyr blinked, which was the closest he ever got to an exclamation of surprise.

“I thought you had rejected me, rejected us,” he said to Geralt.

“You—what?” Geralt stuttered, well and truly lost.

“You comforted Kalidaria, _held_ her even. Was that not clear enough?” Geralt continued to gape at him, and Emhyr turned back to Hana. “Surely you knew.”

“Yeah,” Hana replied, to Geralt’s horror. “But he hates it when I tell him things that he hasn’t worked out himself so I didn’t bother.”

“ _What.”_

Kali snickered and Geralt gave her his best glare.

“Perhaps I should rescind my regard,” Emhyr commented to Hana. “He is obviously not as bright as I had given him credit for.”

“No-one is rescinding anything,” Geralt stated, stalking around the table and pulling him up into a kiss.

“Well,” Emhyr murmured when they broke apart, “perhaps not then.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](https://xpityx.tumblr.com/) for fandom and anarchy, [Twitter](https://twitter.com/xpityxfanfic) for writing updates.


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